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It’s a rudimentary question to be sure, and one that can be easily transliterated to other genre: What is it that “makes” Black Metal? One can bring the interrogative to every other subgenre and come away with acceptable, fundamental replies. Black Metal? Safety in numbers dictates the genre to consist in shrill, shredded throat vocals; bees-in-a-bucket guitars; rumbling, ramshackle drums. Lyrically, mentions of Satan are good but not necessary, as more introspective folk have gone about equating misanthropy – and in worst-case scenarios – extreme racism with the Black Metal legion. With hordes of imitators willingly accepting the palette of the aforementioned, there’s not only little to no room for growth, there’s only deep boredom. Few welcome alterations – however minute – to Black Metal’s basic fabric, which is why even fewer fuck with its fundaments. Those that do are labeled fringe and are lauded by few. Those that don’t are deemed derivative – shameless Burzum or Darkthrone worship.

As the catch-22 is all too salient, one’s only recourse is to slowly make an individual contribution, all while packaging it in something easily recognizable: the aforementioned Burzum or Darkthrone worship. Tenebrae in Perpetuum is a case in point, giving metalheads something familiar, all while putting an interesting new gloss on the product.

The group’s moniker, whose direct Latin translation means “Darkness into Perpetuity,” is an Italian duo comprised of drummer/vocalist Atratus and guitarist/bassist Darkest Abyss. Like French duo Haemoth, these two need little help in kicking up a massive amount of sonic power. Guitarist Darkest Abyss provides some stunning leads on “Sub Zero” and “Sonsacrato con l’Odio,” nimble, supple and wholly classical, the effect is fantastic. When coupled with deft percussive breakdowns, Tenebrae easily brings to mind classic work by Moonblood and Darkthrone without sounding derivative, partly because of their willingness to engage new forms: Abyss’ Persian scales; Atratus’ pulmonary bass drum work. The recording is also surprisingly clean and several pieces benefit from it: “Terrore Spirtuale,” whose water-torture guitar lines crash over Atratus’ pained screeches; “Mutiazionk Celesti,” is practically a Black Metal tarantella: frenetic, whirling, classic.